Everything Stays
by sweetiepie08
Summary: Mushroom War au/Adventure Time au Héctor can't remember how he found the amulet or why it's chosen him, but it saved him and his daughter when the end of the world came. As he and Coco wander through the wreckage, he can feel the amulet's power growing and trying to creep into his mind. He knows he must hang on for Coco.
1. Chapter 1

Héctor found himself standing on the steps of the Auditorio Nacional, though not in the way he ever imagined. He dreamed of playing here one day as a professional musician, not assessing if the roof looked stable or how well the doors would hold against attack. Still, it looked sturdy and would make a good shelter for the time being, so long as there were no surprises inside.

"What do you think, Coco?" Héctor asked, jostling her awake. "It'd make a pretty good home for a while, right?" It was their best option anyway. It was getting dark, and night was the worst time to be outside. "Think you can walk?" Her little legs gave out a few hours ago. Hopefully they'd recovered by now.

Coco flopped her head into the crook of his neck and mumbled her answer which seemed to be in the affirmative. He let her slide out of his arms and held her hand as they climbed the steps. The locks were weak from disrepair, which meant they'd have to reinforce the doors once inside.

"Don't go running off, Coco," Héctor said as he jammed a long pipe between the door handles. "We don't know what's in here yet."

He kept his hand clasped tightly around hers as they explored. They checked every inch to make sure their new hideaway was free of Monsters as Coco called them. She wasn't far off. He didn't have the heart to tell her what the Monsters once were.

The sadness crept in his mind as they wandered around. This place, though now falling to shambles from surviving the Mushroom War and left neglected for some length of time (he'd lost track of the days), still had some beauty to it. He only wished he could have seen it in its prime. It must have been magnificent. At least he got to see the pipe organ, though playing would attract too much attention. It was probably horribly out of tune anyway.

That the green room still had big, comfy couches felt like a miracle. At least his aching back would get some relief for now. _Twenty Seven years old and already complaining about my back,_ he thought with a smirk. After everything that'd happened, this shouldn't be such a surprise, but it was hard letting go of the old normality.

"Papá, there's a fire place," Coco pointed out.

Ah, another perk. Coco hated the dark now, and frankly, so did he.

Héctor set his backpack down on a table and rummaged around for the matches.

"Why don't you use your magic, Papá?" Coco asked as she climbed on one of the sofas.

Héctor's hands froze in the bag and he suddenly became very aware of the weight he wore around his neck. He turned to her with an easy smile and said, "Don't want to waste it, m'ija. We need to save that for when it's really important."

After Héctor got the fire going, they ate some of their rations for supper. Coco then curled up in his lap and asked for a story. She liked the silly ones. In truth, he just retold episodes of cartoons from his childhood, or at least what he could recall from them. He'd have to make up some as he went, but she always enjoyed it and so did he. It was good for the both of them to forget for a while.

Soon enough, she was fast asleep. Héctor lay on the couch with his daughter's head on his chest. He combed his fingers through her hair and stared at the ceiling as he tried to keep his thoughts in check. He had to try very hard not to think of it, not to remember, but his old life was hard to forget in this room. It brought memories of him and Ernesto talking for hours about what their lived would be like once they became famous musicians. When they were younger, their fantasies usually revolved around playing huge, sell-out shows in iconic venues around the world, attending wild, star-studded parties, making ridiculous backstage demands just to see if they'd really happen… Then, when they were older, their thoughts turned to making their mark on music history, inspiring young musicians just like them, and for Héctor, providing the best life possible for his girls.

 _Well, Ernesto, I finally made it. I hope this is close enough for you._ It was funny, really. Ernesto was always trying to get him to tour Mexico, and now he finally had.

It wasn't as if there'd be an audience to play for anyway. After months of traveling, trying to stay ahead of the Monsters and searching someone, anyone who could help, they found nothing. Coco was the only other human he'd seen since that day. As far as he could tell, he and Coco were the only people left in Mexico, possibly even the world. Though he refused to believe the latter. There must have been a few people like them who got lucky.

That day played out like a nightmare. The bright green mushroom cloud appeared in the sky. According to the news, it could be seen from all over the world. People were told to stay indoors, to not go outside for anything. Imelda, however, insisted on doing just that. Her brothers had gone out before the cloud appeared and hadn't come home. Héctor begged her not to go, but she was determined to make sure her brothers were safe. She told him to stay home and protect Coco. She kissed him, and that was the last time he saw her, or at least as she was.

After she left, a flash emitted from the cloud. Instinctually, Héctor shielded Coco with his body. When they came to, the Santa Cecelia they knew was gone. Buildings were crumbling, the sky was filled with black clouds, and the citizens had been turned into Things. Zombies wasn't the right word for them. They were strange, oozing slime monsters, the same green as the cloud which no longer loomed over the world. They weren't stable, if the puddles of green goo he found on his travels were any indication, but how long the Monsters lasted seemed to vary. He didn't know what they were or how this was possible, but he at least knew that they burned. Sometimes, late at night, when his thoughts turned as dark as the clouds that now permanently hung in the air, he wondered how many friends and family he had to burn in order for he and Coco to make their escape.

Héctor blinked a few times, trying to refocus his eyes. They drifted to a lounge chair across the room.

 _ **That would burn up nicely.**_

His heart stopped and he looked down at his daughter sleeping in his arms. _No, not now._

 _ **It wouldn't take much. Just a little spark.**_

 _Stop it._

It didn't stop. An image came to his mind. A little flame slowly overtaking the chair, the fabric burning and peeling away, the stuffing melting and sinking down to the wooden supports, the fire consuming it until it was nothing but an ashen husk…

He felt his hands getting hot and stretched them as far away from Coco as possible. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was freezing in the artic. Imagining the harsh, cold air sometimes fought the thoughts long enough for his hands to cool.

The heat slowly disappeared from his palms. He tested them on the couch, and when he left no singe marks, he carefully picked up Coco and set her back down again on the cushions. She stirred a little in her sleep, but thankfully didn't wake. He slipped out of the room. If he could help it, he always stepped away from Coco when his mind went like this.

He wandered the halls and tried to force his mind to think of anything else, but the voice in his head refused to be ignored. It tugged at his consciousness, showing him tantalizing images of everything around him engulfed in flame. A discarded mop's handle crackling and splintering, an orange glow traveling up the stage curtain, rows of theater seats lighting up like matches…

His hand flew to his chest and he clenched his fist around the amulet hidden beneath his shirt. He couldn't recall what it was or why he had it. He suspected it took that memory from him like it slowly took away parts of his mind. He only knew he hadn't had these thoughts before it latched on to him. It demanded fire from him. For a time, it was satisfied with the monsters he had to burn to survive, but the monsters were starting to disappear and it wanted more. It wanted a host, it wanted him.

 _Why me?_ he often wondered. Why hadn't it been found by a scientist or archeologist, or someone with a chance in hell of knowing what it was and how to control it.

 _ **I saved you,**_ it told him. _**I saved your girl. You owe me.**_

"No. I am in control."

 _ **Are you?**_

"I won't feed you. You won't get what you want from me."

He'd tried at first. He tried sneaking away and setting small fires to silence it, ones that would easily burn out on their own and leave no extra damage. It didn't like that. It wanted to spread, to consume, and every time he used his powers, he found himself enjoying the flames in a way that terrified him.

When he had to go all out, when he had to fight to protect his daughter, he opened the door to let the voice creep in just a bit more. It would get stronger, whisper to him more frequently. He thought he could control it. The first time, when he and Coco made their escape from Santa Cecelia, he didn't even know it was there. Each time after, it would be helpful, giving him ideas on how to fight and stay alive. But then, he let it in too much.

He couldn't remember what exactly happened. He just opened his eyes and saw Coco crying from her hiding place. From the smoldering puddles of green all around him, he deduced that he'd just fought off a swarm of monsters. He reached for her, but she pushed him away. She said he scared her. That was when he saw the burn on her arm.

Without hesitation, he tore the amulet off and threw it in a pile of wreckage. Almost immediately after, he fell to the ground in agony. He could feel the flesh on his back burning, melting away. It was unlike any pain he'd ever experienced. Somehow, he knew the source. It came from the wounds he should have sustained in the flash. He wasn't sure how long it took, but Coco slipped the amulet back around his neck and the pain disappeared.

If the situation had been different, he would have rather died than become the world-burning maniac the amulet wanted him to be, but Coco needed him. When he put it back on, he could swear the thing felt smug. It knew it had him trapped.

 _ **You won't survive without me,**_ it told him. _**You and your little girl would be dead if not for me.**_

And so he was forced to continue wearing it, hosting it, letting it whisper in his mind. But he had one thing over the amulet. It couldn't start fires on its own. It needed Héctor as much as he needed it. He could resist its influence and exert his will over it. The amulet would not use his hands to cause destruction.

 _ **What more is there to destroy? What kind of world are you trying to preserve?**_

"Shut up."

 _ **Why fight? Look around you. The world is just kindling now. Just let loose one little spark and it will all go up in flames.**_

"I won't do it. The world is still worth something."He couldn't become a monster too. Coco had no one else. He needed to protect her. He needed to hang on.

 _ **What? For the girl? Why? What future could she have here?**_

He couldn't even respond. It was a question he turned over in his mind constantly. They would survive, that much was for certain, but to what end? What kind of world was Coco growing up in? How long could they last? What would they do with their lives now that the world was seemingly over?

 _ **There is no point. Burn it down. That's all you can do.**_

"Never. I'm done arguing with you."

The voice continued to try to make its point, but Héctor tried to block it out. He knew this would only lead to the amulet switching from the voice to images, but he'd been getting better at occupying himself with other things. He had a lot of practice ignoring things he didn't want in his brain, this voice just happened to be more persistent. That was all.

Héctor found his way to the stage. He walked up the edge and sat down, letting his feet dangle over the orchestra pit. _How many greats once performed here?_ He wondered. And how many were even still alive? These halls were made to be filled with music. Would they ever be again?

 _ **They won't. They never will again.**_

Héctor sneered defiantly. _We'll see about that._

He had a song in his mind already, one he'd been mentally writing on their long journey. Even if he had no guitar, or partner, or even an audience to play for, he was still a musician. Music was what he was, how he sorted out the world, and he needed it now more than ever.

He took a breath and his voice filled the empty space.

"Socorro, is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?

That must be so confusing for a little girl."

 _ **You? You think you're good enough? You're only good for one thing.**_

"And I know you're going to need me here with you,

But I'm losing myself and I'm afraid you're going lose me too."

 _ **You see, there's no point in fighting.**_

"This magic keeps me alive, but it's making me crazy,

And I need it to save you, but who's going to save me?"

 _ **You are mine. I will take you eventually.**_

"Please forgive me for whatever I do,

When I don't remember you."

He continued singing his song, keeping his thoughts only on Coco until the voice ran out of things to say. Though he knew what came next. The amulet would show him images of fire and burning that gave him a twisted pleasure that he hated. He'd grown able to resist the temptation. He'd tell himself _It's not me. It's the amulet,_ over and over until it gave up.

Today, it tried something new. It showed him Coco. It showed her running up to him with a smile on her face. He picked her up and gave her a toss. When he caught her, she was crying. He put her down and realized that his hands had burned through her dress and left large red marks on her skin. She ran from him. He tried to catch her by her hand, but he burned her again.

 _ **What might happen if you never use your fire? If you never get an outlet?**_

It continued to show him more visions, each worse than the last. Images of Coco and the fire twisted together in his mind. It repulsed him, it horrified him, and yet the flames… _No, no it's not me. It's the amulet._ He thought he might be sick.

 _ **Don't you want to keep her safe? Isn't she worth it?**_

He knew the price: another small piece of his mind to quiet the amulet for at least a while.

 _ **Isn't she worth it? It asked again.**_

 _Yes, yes, of course she was_. He'd give the world for her. What was one more piece of his mind?

He got up and started looking around. Surely, he'd be able to find a metal trash can somewhere. He was still in control, and he still refused to let the fire burn wildly.

 _ **That would do nicely,**_ the voice told him as his eyes landed on some discarded set pieces.

 _Yes, yes they would,_ he thought as he imagined the flames crawling across the wood _._ Maybe he didn't need the can. Maybe, it he dragged those outside and let them burn out on their own and if they didn't… He could feel his hands heating. Small twin flames flickered in his palms.

Loud, childish sobs echoed through the halls, accompanied by cries of "Papá!" His hands instantly went cool again. Abandoning his task, Héctor ran down the halls in the direction of the green room where he left Coco. He found her wandering just outside.

"Coco, I'm here," He said in a soothing tone and he knelt down beside her. "What's the matter?"

She threw herself into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. "I woke up and you weren't there. It was dark. I got scared."

"It's alright. I just went for a walk. I'm here now." He picked her up and carried her back into the room. "Let both get some sleep, eh?"

He laid down on the couch with Coco still clinging to him around his neck. "Don't leave again, Papá," she demanded through slowing sobs.

"Never," he answered, gently petting her hair. "Want me to sing for you?"

He felt her nod and began singing her a lullaby. He focused purely on the feeling of his daughter in his arms, the sound of her soft breathing, and the warmth of holding her close.

This was why he fought, why he clung to his mind, why he couldn't fall for the amulets tricks. If he couldn't do it for himself or the rest of the world, he'd do it for her. She was the world now, as far as he was concerned. He wouldn't let his daughter grow up with a monster for a father.

"Papá," Coco whispered, sleep in her voice, "I love you."

"I love you too, Coco," he whispered back as she drifted off. "My little flame."


	2. Chapter 2

The shock at finding each other again was so overwhelming, all they could do was stare. Each pair assumed the other was dead. It took a minute for it to sink in that they were not looking at ghosts.

The moment passed and they rushed toward each other. Her Tío Filipe picked her up and gave her a toss, commenting on how much she'd grown. Tío Oscar embraced Papá with a clap on the back. Papá hugged him back, but was careful to place his hands on his own skin. For some reason he'd become impervious to burns.

"Did you join a boy band?" Oscar joked, a bright smile on his face.

"In the 90s?" Filipe added.

Her Papá pinched a lock of platinum blonde hair in his fingers and absently examined it before flicking back in place. "Would you believe it is natural?" He said with an awkward grin. The scattered locks of blonde now growing from his head was just one sign that something was off. His skin had also turned a shade more orange and his hands were always warm to the touch. "I can tell you about it later," he added, sparing a glance at Coco.

"Yes, there's so much to talk about," Oscar said. "We'll explain on our way back to camp."

"Camp" referred to the little community of survivors from Santa Cecilia. Oscar and Filipe took turns explaining what happened to them before the Flash. As the Mushroom War escalated, the brothers started building a secret bunker just outside of Santa Cecelia, hoping they would never really need it. They happened to be working on it when the green cloud appeared. They started getting everyone they could find into the bunker and closed the door just before the flash went off. They stayed down there for a few days until they finally decided to check if it was safe. When they came out, they found Santa Cecelia destroyed, covered in scorch marks with strange puddles of green slime splashed about the landscape.

They'd become a wandering community since then, everyone had to be now a days. Papá's first question was if Imelda was with them. She was not. No one had seen her since the flash. Papá looked sick.

They did mention that Ernesto was with them for a time. He hid in the bunker with them and traveled with the community for about a year. Then, he found something, he wouldn't say what, but he thought he found a way to reverse the flash. He went off on his own to find it, and that was the last time they saw him as well.

When they finally made it to camp, Coco could hardly believe her eyes. Sure, the camp itself was little more than a series of tents and campfires, but there were people there. She hadn't seen so many people in so long. And there were kids there! Kids her own age! Kids she could play with! She even recognized a few from school. She begged Papá to let her run ahead, and he actually did. He never let her wander out of his sight these days. Surely this must be a special place.

The rest of the day was like a dream. It was almost like she had her old life back. She got to out to play for the first time since she couldn't remember when. And the smile Papá wore as he watched her play was real. It was a real smile.

Lately, his usual ones were fake, usually accompanied by lies like, "I'm alright," despite evidence to the contrary. They were weak with worry and shrouded in sadness. They were frowns forcibly and painstakingly turned upside down, not that he would ever admit that. Whenever she asked about it, he'd tell her not to worry about it. Every kid knew that meant he was just keeping all the worry for himself.

Her dream shattered that night, as quickly as a false smile. After they shared dinner with the rest of the community, Papá asked her uncles to talk and they went into one of the tents. She said she wanted to go too. Papá told her everything was fine and to go play with the other kids. But everything was definitely not fine. She could tell by the way they whispered.

After they went in, she waited until she was sure they'd think she was off playing before sneaking up to the tent flaps. Right away she knew something terrible was about to happen.

"Of course we will," her Tío Filipe said. "That's not even a question."

"But you're staying too," Oscar added.

"I wish that I could," Papá said. He was sad; so, so sad. "Imelda would be so proud to see what you've done here, but I can't be part of it. I'm slipping, I can feel it. I've already begun changing. If the amulet were to take over entirely…"

"Maybe it won't come to that."

"Maybe, but more likely it will."

"You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up. If there is a way, I will find it and I will find you all again, but this is what's best for everyone. Before today, my only plan was to pray that I could hold on long enough for Coco to learn to survive on her own. Now that we found you…" there were tears in his voice, "at least I know I'm leaving her with family who loves her."

Leave? Her heart jumped into the back of her throat. Papá was going to leave? No. It was worse. He was going to leave her behind.

She tore into the room and launched herself into Papá so hard he nearly fell over. "You can't!" she cried as she clung to him. "Please, Papá! No! You can't!"

"Coco…" he breathed. That was all he could say.

"I know the amulet made you sick," she continued, tears streaming down her cheeks, "but it's okay now. Tío Oscar and Tío Filipe are here. They're smart, really smart. They can fix you."

Her uncles gave each other a helpless look. "Coco, I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," one of them said. She couldn't tell which. They both looked like the same blurry blob through her watery eyes and her heart pounded too loud in her ears to hear the subtle differences in their voices.

Papá wiggled out of her grasp enough to kneel down to her eye level. He placed a hand carefully on her cheek and wiped away a rolling tear. His hands were hot, they always were now, but they didn't burn. "I never want to leave you."

"Then don't!"

She could see the heartbreak behind his kind, brown eyes. Somehow, he managed to keep his composure. "You know about my fire magic," he said in his calming voice. "It's getting too dangerous now. I need to go away to find a way to fix myself, but I need to do it alone so that I don't accidently hurt anyone."

"You wouldn't hurt anyone," she insisted. "You're too nice."

"I don't want to, but if I don't fix myself, I might. When I find a way, I will come back."

 _What if you don't?_ The question was in her mind, but she was too afraid to ask. She thought she already knew the answer. Instead, she threw herself into her father's arms. He held her as she cried until she had no tears left. "Do you have to leave right now?" she asked as she regained her breath.

"No, I can stay a few days."

"Will you play for me?"

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head. "Will you sing my songs, even when I'm not around?"

She hugged him tighter and buried her head in his chest. "I promise, Papá."

[-]

She was 8 when he left.

At age 10, her uncles discovered a new force was seeping into the earth. For lack of a better term, they called it magic.

At age 12, they discovered monsters, thought only to be myths and fairy tales, were making themselves known again. Her uncles theorize that the earth cycles through periods of high and low magic and magic was on the rise again.

At age 14, search parties began setting out into the ocean in hopes of finding more inhabitable lands. Some came back empty handed. Some didn't come back at all.

At age 15, Tío Filipe was attacked by a vampire and nearly killed. Coco began training to be a monster hunter.

At age 16, a search party returned with news of an uncharted archipelago, uninhabited and untouched by the war. They began making plans to build boats and move the community to the islands in hopes it would become a permanent home.

At age 19, she lost a fight with a vampire just weeks before they were set to depart for the islands. The vampire turned her and she couldn't go with them. She was able to control her new bloodlust just long enough to say goodbye to her uncles.

Age 20, she discovered she didn't need blood to survive, just the color red. Also, she started going by Socorro. She just doesn't feel like Coco without her family.

At age 25, she returned to Santa Cecilia and found the white skull guitar miraculously still intact in its case. It was horribly out of tune, but she learned to fix that. She remembered his songs and she swore to learn to play them.

Age 36, she found her Papá again for the first time. She didn't recognize him at first. He'd been completely transformed into the Flame King.

He didn't even look anything like the man from her memories. His dark hair had turned to a pale yellow and grown somehow even more unruly. His skin was now an inhuman shade of orange. His brown eyes were tinged with red.

This wasn't him. It was someone else entirely. She can't stand to look at him. She ran.

Their paths crossed again at ages 83, 154, 247, 333, 421, 518, 609, and 700. By 705, found her every couple of years. Now, at age 1000, it only takes him a few months.

He didn't do it intentionally, at least not always. Half the time he didn't even remember that they'd met before. Once, just once, she let on that he was her father. It was a mistake. Luckily, he forgot by the next time they met.

[-]

When he showed up at her home that day, she was ready to throw him out and find a new place to live again, as usual, but then he showed her the little red book. "I thought people might like me if I wrote them a song, and I need your help because you write the best songs," he said as he held up the book. "Your songs are so good, I wrote them all down. I mean… I don't remember doing that, but I must have."

He didn't know. Her heart twisted. He didn't know that she sang his songs, that she played his guitar. He didn't remember that she promised him she would.

So, she let him in. He lugged in a makeshift guitar slapped together out of wood scraps. Socorro took out her own guitar. This one she got herself to play on while the white skull guitar rested safely on its stand. She never risked doing anything that might damage it. She kept it in good shape, cleaning it and tuning it, never letting it collect dust. Every once in a while, she'd hold it across her lap and strum her fingers along the strings, but it was never quite the same as when Papá played.

She wished she'd known the Flame King would be in her house today. She would have locked it up somewhere.

Their session started off predictably awkward. He claimed he never wrote a song before. He wanted pointers from her. She almost laughed at how completely backwards he had it. He was the musical genius, not her.

She tried anyway. At first, she thought she could draw on the hours she spent watching her Papá work. She could easily see him hunched over his guitar, plucking out melodies. He was so vivid in her mind; cringing and biting his tongue when he hit a sour note, furiously erasing lyrics or notes that just didn't fit, eyes lighting up when he found just the right word. What she wouldn't give to have that version of her Papá here now.

A crash brought her out of her memories. She turned to see the Flame King holding the remnants of his slapdash guitar. The rest of it sat crumbled on the floor.

Her heart leapt. "Oh no, guess this means we can't play together anymore," she said, beginning to usher him out of her home. "You probably want to go home to fix it."

This was great. If he couldn't play, they couldn't write. He'd have to go back to his molten tower and she could get a jump start on moving again. Maybe he would just forget the whole thing and she wouldn't have to move.

"What are you talking about? You've got another one right there." He pointed at the white skull guitar and her heart sank.

"Oh, I don't use that one."

"Why not? Looks alright to me." He started toward it.

Socorro managed to rush ahead and block his path. "No. You can't use that one."

"Why not?" Steam rose from his hands.

"I said no!"

"Let me play!" His hands engulfing into flames.

"Stop it! Right now!"

"Fine!" he shouted. "I don't need your dumb guitar anyway!" He launched a fireball at the guitar. Socorro managed to grab it out of the way just in time. The fire landed on her carpet. She stomped it out and turned back to him, fire in her own eyes now.

"Do you have any idea what you almost did?" she roared, hovering over him. "You could have destroyed it! You have no idea what that guitar means to me!"

As quickly as his temper flared, it dissolved again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleaded like a child.

She couldn't look at him. It hurt to look at him. In fact, it enraged her to look at him. This pathetic creature, whatever it was, was not Papá. It couldn't be. It might be walking around in his skin and morphing his body, but it was not Papá.

"You don't know anything! Do you have any idea what it's like to be around you? You don't even remember who you are anymore, do you? Héctor?"

"Who?" The Flame King blinked his vacant eyes. Socorro searched for some trace of recognition but found nothing.

She looked around for the songbook and snatched it off the couch. "You wrote these when I was a kid!" she shouted, opening to a random page and showing it to him. "Don't you remember?"

"I wrote music?"

Socorro let out a sigh and looked back at the book. She traced her fingers over the notes her Papá wrote so long ago. _Maybe this is all I get,_ she thought as she flipped through the book. Vivid memories of her Papá writing and singing and playing danced in her mind. _Maybe he is just memories now. That's more than he has._

She flipped to the back and her hand froze as she came across a song she'd never seen before. It was written in various colors of ink, apparently whatever he had on hand at the time. She ran her fingers over the notes. _This is him,_ she thought as she scanned the lyrics _. It might be the last thing he ever wrote._

"What's that?" The Flame King asked, peeking over her shoulder.

"A song."

"And I wrote it?"

She turned to him and looked in his eyes. She could almost see something behind the haze, something familiar. "Yes."

"Is it good?" He picked up her guitar and plucked a few strings. "Sing it for me."

Socorro looked down at the song. She wondered if her Papá ever played it. He left the guitar behind when they left Santa Cecelia and she doubted he ever found a new one. She never heard him sing it, so if he did, it wasn't around her. Maybe this song deserved to be played again, just once.

" _Socorro, is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?_

 _That must be so confusing for a little girl._

 _And I know you're going to need me here with you._

 _But I'm losing myself, and I'm afraid you're gonna lose me too."_

The Flame King began playing along with her words. She watched his fingers move along the frets. He was still in there somewhere. This was indisputable proof. No one else could play like him. No one else could make it look as effortless and natural as he could. He remembered somehow. Even after he forgot his own name, he remembered the music.

"Wow, I wrote that? What's it about?"

Her heart dropped. "You don't remember what it means?" She turned the book toward him and shoved it in his face as something wet rolled down her cheek. "Look!"

He peered at the book and sang the words off the page.

" _This magic keeps me alive, but it's making me crazy,_

 _And I need to save you, but who's going to save me?_

 _Please forgive me for whatever I do,_

 _When I don't remember you."_

He didn't know what he was saying, or at least he didn't understand the significance of it. She could tell by his vacant eyes. Whatever flicker of her father she saw was just that, a flicker. Very little remained of him now. It wasn't enough to fight through the havoc the amulet wreaked on his mind. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. Papá was gone and the Flame King took his place.

She picked up with white skull guitar and strummed it in tune as she joined him in the chorus. The tears flowed down her cheeks but he didn't notice. Papá would have noticed, but he didn't.

Still, she played on. It was her Papá's last song. It deserved to be played on his guitar at least one time.


End file.
